Lost in the Shadows
by elle-nora
Summary: Now complete! Read and Review! Following a series of immortal kills in Paris by an unknown woman, Duncan MacLeod fears that his former student Alisaunne has at last succumbed to Nestor's darkness. A short story sequel to The Artist's Loving Hand.
1. Shadow

_**Lost in the Shadows**_

_Oh but Lord, no don't make it easy  
__Keep me workin' til I work it on out  
__Just please, shine enough light on me  
__'Til I'm free from this shadow of doubt_

lyrics by Gary Nicholson, sung by Bonnie Raitt

_**Shadow**_

**Paris, December 2013**

As he stepped from the dimly lightly nightclub into the Paris night, Dietrich Hoffman lit one of the Turkish cigarettes that he'd developed a taste for during World War I, almost a century before, and drew on it heavily. Holding the pungent tobacco-laden smoke within his immortal lungs until his lungs burned, he slowly and carefully blew it out in a controlled exhalation of smoke and moisture, which condensed in the winter air. Behind him… the heavy metal beat of the dance music rose and fell with the opening and closing of the club's main entrance. He held the cigarette between thumb and forefinger as he looked thoughtfully across the square.

Traffic was light on the street this late at night, so the nebulous feel of an immortal surprised the German. It whispered across his senses like the gentle throb of a vibrator. Dietrich grinned as he flicked away his cigarette. "A young one!" Licking his lips in anticipation of a swift kill, he stepped on the cigarette and felt within his coat for the hilt of his saber. Heads had been few for the taking in the past few years. Ever since something had happened, involving a lot of immortals vanishing under mysterious circumstances, and then re-entering the game in the spring of 2011, Dietrich had noted two things. One was that there were far fewer immortals around than there should be. Evidently someone had been on a major killing spree over the last decade. The second thing was that several of those who must have been involved somehow in the event that had brought several back into the game… would look at him sadly and pass by. There was none of that almost primal sense of kill or be killed about them. Yet he'd seen something in their eyes that indicated that they would fight if he pushed them… and that they would win.

Dietrich liked easier prey. He focused on young immortals… still filled with that first sense of invulnerability. Let others chance the older ones… Dietrich preferred his odds. Tonight… he felt he might be lucky. The elusive presence of the immortal was light… almost non-existent. "Perhaps very new," he grinned as he crossed the square to investigate.

The light touch led him deeper into a warren of dark alleys where no streetlights shone their argon glow. Arriving in a cobbled courtyard with a public fountain among houses with overhanging upper stories… he paused in the sudden sense of the open night sky above him.

"No moon," he noted. Strange that he'd not noticed before. Nor was there much starlight peeking through the overcast night. From the chill in the air, Dietrich thought there might be snow by morning. As he stood next to the burbling fountain… he closed his eyes and tried to find once more the touch that had led him here. His eyes snapped open and his saber was immediately in his hand as he turned.

Only the shadows of the darkened buildings surrounded him. Then he saw her… a small white face floating in the darkness. No… he realized… not floating… just crowned by spiky dark hair and peeking out from dark clothing.

"Nice trick," he smirked.

She stepped closer. He could see no weapon on her… her dark clothing seemed inky black_. "Bon soir, monsieur_." She smiled… her voice sweet and gentle.

Dietrich's grip relaxed. There was something enticing about having an immortal female. There was an element of danger about them that made the sex better… more satisfying. He'd had three in his long life. Two of them he'd beheaded shortly after when they'd tried to off him. The third… ah... the third. Dietrich smiled at memories of Padma of India. She'd been totally unaware of what she was when he'd found her during the time of the British Raj… and for nearly a century… his lover and student. Perhaps this one was like Padma. Someone he could mold and use.

But upon closer inspection as the female neared him, Dietrich rather doubted it. She smelled of musk, and the heavy dark makeup about her eyes and lips made him wonder if she were one of the hookers who frequented the area.

He licked his lips in anticipation of both taking her… and her head. He slipped the saber back into the hidden pocket of his coat and grinned. "Interested in a good time?"

"Always," she replied and stepped closer. Her scent was almost overpowering. Her hands reached out and one ran lightly up his chest while she tugged at his belt. "Love me here! Love me now!" She backed into the shadows, pulling him with her.

Dietrich glanced about. He'd heard of immortals that used females to distract other immortals and then attacked them. He felt no one else lurking about. He ran his hands over her… feeling only soft cloth on her well-endowed form. Dangerous? Of course she was dangerous. But then… so was he. He could always kill her afterwards.

She stepped back and pulled at the cloth so that it opened to reveal the white form of her bare chest.

Dietrich gulped and felt himself harden in anticipation. He clasped one breast and lowered his mouth to it even as he pushed her against a wall.

She moaned and arched her back even as she pulled eagerly at his zipper. One of her legs lifted and encircled his waist… then she hopped so that the other did as well.

He pushed at her clothing, which fell away easily, until he could enter her and began to thrust harshly. Again and again his exertions slammed her against the wall as she moaned and cried out in need and pleasure… her hands clutching at his back and pounding away at him… urging him on. Just as he was close to release… he thought he heard the sound of metal.

* * *

Gillum Hendricks scratched absently at his Watcher tattoo and then re-adjusted his watch to cover it. Things had been dicey for the Watchers in the past few years, but things had seemed to return to an even keel about two years ago. He wasn't certain what had happened… but the leadership had changed and new directives involving involvement in the lives of their assignments had been sent to all Watchers.

"If you are noticed… deny nothing. If they tell you to leave… do so and contact your supervisor immediately."

Gillum had shaken his head in amusement. "If they tell us to stop watching them… we stop watching them?" It sounded like madness. But evidently, as he'd heard from others, a number of immortals now knew of Watchers and many of them did not have a good view of what the historians did.

"Mistakes by some of our membership were made," the director said. "They crossed the line and threatened both the lives of immortals, the game, and our existence. While peace has been restored and the aberrant element dealt with… there are still hard feelings on the part of some. If your immortal sees you… approaches you, asks if you are a Watcher… show him your wrist. We wear our symbol with pride. Your immortal may simply snort and walk away… or he may ask you to leave. Hopefully… that is all he will do."

Gillum's immortal had never noticed him.

Indeed, Dietrich Hoffman seemed just a typical if slightly seedy immortal. He'd come back to life during the American Revolution, as a member of one of His Majesty's Hessian troops. Realizing quickly that he had a gift for survival… he'd taken the heads of several continentals in the New York area… and might have been the inspiration for Washington Irving's Headless Horseman. It wasn't the Hessian who was headless, though. It was just that he'd taken heads. Eventually he'd met another immortal and learned exactly what he was. Hoffman had killed his teacher… one Claude Lancombe, a French schoolmaster, and had then returned to Europe.

He'd died several times in the wars of the British in the years to follow. Usually he'd just signed on to another unit and kept fighting. He'd fought with Wellington against Napoleon; and then had traveled to India as part the occupying force of that land. He'd served in the Crimea. He'd fought and died against the Boers and later the Zulu in Africa. In the twentieth century, he'd fought on both sides during the two World Wars… depending on where he was when he'd revived. After World War Two, he'd basically become a mercenary. Hoffman's allegiance was to no government… and to no one… but himself. He usually took two or three heads a year.

While Gillum didn't particularly like his assignment… he'd learned to be detached about him.

"We do not have to like or dislike them," one of his instructors had said years ago. "We are only required to watch, record, and not interfere in immortal activities."

Gillum blew on his gloved hands and stamped his feet on the dark pavement. Hoffman had left the club and was even now heading across the square toward the alleys. Gillum gave him a count of four and then slowly sauntered in the same general direction, ready to veer off slightly if the immortal stopped for any reason. He didn't.

Reaching the entry to one alley… Gillum hesitated. He didn't want to push this too hard. He doubted that Hoffman knew of Watchers… but he still might not like being followed. Gillum blew on his hands and stepped back into the shadows. Perhaps it was best to wait.

Something crashed into his head and he fell to his knees… aware that someone was walking away.

Gillum's eyes rolled back as he hit the pavement… and an even blacker darkness descended on him.

Shortly later… still nauseous from the blow… and dizzy… Gillum Hendricks managed to sit up. When he lifted one hand to his scalp… he felt it sticky and wet with blood. Not far away he could see lightning flash and he could hear thunder roll, as a storm seemed imminent.

"No," he managed to whisper. "Not a storm… a quickening." Dragging himself to his feet… he stumbled down the dark alley toward the flickering light. He nearly collapsed twice as he closed in on it. His dizziness kept causing him to reel and slam into the walls of the ever-present buildings as they closed in on the alley.

By the time he walked through the arched opening and into the small courtyard… the quickening had died away. Nevertheless… he could see a huddled mass on the pavement near one of the buildings. Gillum glanced around, but saw no one else. The survivor was gone. Stumbling to the body he found himself retching as he stood over the corpse and saw the head. He chalked it up to his injury. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen the sight before.

He eased down against the wall and pulled out his cellphone to punch in code 91.

"Hendricks, Gillum... Watcher ID 45736. I watch Dietrich Hoffman. I need a clean-up crew near the _Club Chanteuse_ on _Rue La Belle_. I may need medical for me." Already the pain in his head was nearly drowning out the voice on the phone asking for details and the nausea was making it hard to talk.

"Oh… it's mine," he replied nodding and instantly regretting it. "Hoffman is dead. I'd say the Black Widow has struck again." He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. His hand holding the cellphone dropped to his lap.


	2. Shade

**Shade**

Duncan MacLeod had always liked Paris. For over four hundred years, he had been drawn here time and time again. It had been the place where he'd met some of his greatest loves, his greatest friends, and his greatest enemies.

As he bounded up the wide steps of the mansion currently housing the Western Europe Watcher's Bureau, he nodded curtly at a few of the young ones who stopped and gaped slightly at his presence. He grinned to himself, realizing that he was something of a legend among some of them. He paused at the door and gave the security guard his name. The man checked a list on his hand-held computer and waved him inside.

Once in the lobby, Duncan was met by an efficient young woman who escorted him to a rear first floor office, and into the presence of his friend, Joe Dawson.

Joe's desk was piled with books and folders and an old laptop stood open and on, displaying the Watcher Logo. Joe was on the phone but waved Duncan in to take a seat and motioned for the young woman to leave.

"Yeah… got it. If there's any change in his condition, let me know. I'm trying to close the file out now." He clicked the phone back and leaned back in his motorized wheel chair rubbing his brow. "Sometimes I hate this job."

"I thought you were retired," teased Duncan.

"I am. But they let me in here to work on your file and to collate some of the information on your friends."

"Nothing too revealing, I hope," Duncan snorted.

Joe's eyes twinkled. "Nothing except the regular."

"So what's up?"

Joe shook his head. "We had a man injured last night."

"It happens. Some of the immortals we rescued still don't like you people very much."

Joe nodded with a sigh. "Yeah. That was a bad business. That's why we try to keep our people at a safe distance. Last night, one of them was attacked."

"By his assignment?"

"No. By the immortal who whacked his assignment."

"And who was that?"

Joe paused, chewing on his lip as if considering his words carefully.

"Come on Joe. You didn't ask me to stop by today for your health."

Joe glanced up at him. "Ever hear of the Black Widow?"

"The film? Or the spider?"

Joe snorted. "No… she's an immortal. We haven't been able to get a Watcher on her and we have no clue as to who she is. But her method of killing is quite… shall we say… evocative of the spider."

"How so?"

"She seduces them… usually on the street… and then beheads them in the act."

Duncan stared and then laughed. "You mean while he's…?"

Joe nodded. "Yep. So far they've all been slightly shady immortals with a penchant for hunting. Whoever she is… she's managed to take four heads in the last year."

Duncan leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. "I don't ever recall anyone using quite that method. But if you're worried I'll be a victim… don't. I like to get to know my women a little better before I sleep with them. Besides, Amanda would not take kindly to this." He winked. He and Amanda were currently playing house in her villa in Florence. How long it would last was still a hotly debated topic among Watchers. Joe had even heard that there was a betting pool set up.

"No… but I thought you might know who it was."

Duncan shook his head. "Sorry. Can't help. Now is that the only reason you asked me to stop by? I thought maybe dinner was involved?"

Laughing, Joe hit the control on his chair. After his poisoning two years ago, the doctors had recommended that he use one. He didn't like it… but as Methos had often said… "The alternative is unthinkable." Joe did not have a death wish, and he wanted to watch his grandchildren grow up. Thus the chair was a necessity of his life these days. "Dinner was definitely the plan. There's a new restaurant over on _Avenue de Montcalm_ that I've been wanting to try."

Duncan rose to accompany his friend. The problem of this hunting female immortal however, still lingered in his mind. As they sat over in the restaurant later, he brought the subject up again. "This Black Widow has been killing how long?"

Joe sipped his wine. "The first we noticed this particular MO was a little over a year ago when Serge Koszinski bought it. Remember him? He was an enforcer for the Russian Mafia at one time. Big guy… very unpleasant."

"Can't say I ever met him."

"Naw… I knew that… but I thought you might have heard of him. Anyway… he was found one night in the Latin Quarter minus a head and with his pants around his ankles. His Watcher had been delayed by a street parade and arrived moments after the quickening died away. Since Serge had obviously been involved in a sexual encounter when he'd died, someone commented on it. Several months later Winston Marchon died the way. He was a local pimp, still on the young side. He was known to mistreat his ladies. Anyway, his Watcher managed to catch a brief glimpse of a female leaving the area. That's when the appellation Black Widow was attached to her until we could find out who she was."

"You said four heads."

"The third was Raoul Mondel. He was about a century old."

"Now him I've met," Duncan interrupted.

Joe nodded, "Right… during WWI. You two were assigned to the same ambulance unit at one time."

"He wasn't a bad man."

"Not then… but after the war he became involved with drugs. He supplied to several groups in Paris."

"Too bad."

"He used to say… 'It's a living'," Joe smirked. "Anyway… same as the others. His Watcher had taken the night off."

"And last night?"

"Dietrich Hoffman died… and his Watcher, who might have seen something, was attacked shortly before the incident. He's got a bad concussion."

"So now it's Watcher business."

Joe shook his head. "Mac… we're trying to stay back from you guys and only watch and record… but if someone is attacking our people… things could get dicey again."

"Is that the official word?"

Joe nodded. "The Council asked me to talk with you and see if there was anything you could do. We don't want to have to be involved in this… but we cannot allow anyone else to be hurt."

Duncan sighed. This was always a bone of contention between the two groups. Immortals on the one hand deserved privacy… needed privacy… while the Watchers on the other hand, wanted to record the history of immortals before they all vanished. Of course Duncan was involved in investigations these days to find a way to end the game… and the killing… but sometimes… it was inevitable. This Black Widow might ruin all of his hopes that the two groups could peacefully continue to coexist.

"You think she knows about Watchers?" Duncan suddenly asked.

"Yeah…" Joe paused with a nod before he continued. "We do."

-----


	3. Shelter

**Shelter**

Outside of the hidden grove on the _Rue St. Jacque_, Duncan paused in the rain and looked across the street at the ruins of _St. Julian le Pauvre_.

Two years after the events that had caused Alisaunne to absorb the quickening of the ancient that had once inhabited Darius… that had waited for her… nothing had been done to the blasted building. Duncan kept an eye on information about it. If the Church sold the property… he wanted to be in a position to outbid anyone for it. The secrets hidden below the church had to be protected at any cost. So far… no decision had been made. Duncan had submitted some early feelers to the ruling body concerning his desires to acquire and restore the property if it came up for sale. He'd been told that he would be informed when a decision would be made.

With a sigh, he passed beneath the stone arch and fingered the old key that would unlock the wrought iron gate that kept the grove separate from the rest of the modern world. Once inside, he breathed the moist air and looked up through the screening that hid the grove from flights overhead… but which allowed sunlight and rain to pass in.

He couldn't sense Alisaunne here. Crossing to the hidden door to the sewer… he found it locked from the far side. Evidently she was working. Wishing to get out of the rain falling now in a steady downpour… he sped carefully up the narrow stone steps to the rooms at the top.

Shaking off the rain, he stamped his feet just inside the door and took in the room at a glance. Everything was neat as a pin. If it weren't for the old laptop on the table by the window, he'd think that no one had been here lately. The rooms were cold… as if no heat had been turned on for some time.

Rubbing the dampness from his hair, he crossed to the table and leaned on it… checking the progress of the game. This was Derrick's old laptop. He'd left it for Alisaunne when he'd vanished from their lives two years ago. Alisaunne did not appear to have made any progress on it. Evidently her time was spent on the puzzle of the mysterious writings on the wall… a puzzle that Eleanor had told him that Darius had never solved. But then… Eleanor had not realized that Darius had solved the puzzle of the artifacts either. But he had… at least partly. Alisaunne's existence proved that.

Next to the laptop was a steno pad folded open to a fresh sheet. Next to it were seven sharpened pencils lying neatly one beside the other. There was an artful and purposeful air to their placement. Duncan glanced up at the empty shelves. On one he saw the old, faded, leather-bound journal that Alisaunne had found. Darius' journal. He pulled it from the shelf to flip through the parchment pages… eyeing the drawings and comments that his mentor and friend had written there… wondering if Alisaunne had discerned any additional secrets.

Almost reverently, he replaced his old friend's journal on the shelf. "I wish you'd told me, Darius," he whispered. "I wish you'd trusted me with some of this while you were still alive."

He felt Alisaunne's presence below and stepped out onto the landing to let her know who was here. She was in jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt. Even from here he could see the patches of mud on her knees and elbows. She glanced up at him and waved warmly before turning to secure the hidden door on this side. He met her halfway down the steps.

"Duncan!" she laughed, giving him a friendly hug as she wiped away the raindrops from her eyes. "Have you been here long?"

"Only a few moments. Let's get out of the rain."

Alisaunne ran a hand through her dark hair, tied up in a short ponytail. "When did it start raining?"

"Sometime during the night," Duncan replied as he let her pass him on the stairs.

She bounded up with a sure foot and entered the rooms, crossing into the small bath facility for a towel to dry her hair. Rubbing it she laughed. "I was down there all night. I had no idea the weather had changed."

Duncan removed his coat. "Making any progress?"

Alisaunne shook her head. "No. It's the strangest thing. I can recall writing all of that… but the knowing of it… the meaning… is still hidden. I can't even fathom a pattern or order to what's written." She shrugged. "I've been cataloging the marks to try using a computerized decryption program."

"Sounds promising."

"Have you had any luck at Waterloo?"

Duncan shook his head. He'd been back there six months ago… walking the battlefield and visiting the old chapel on the nearby farm where he'd first heard Darius preach and where the priest had been tending to the wounded of both sides. Duncan had found no sign or clue that would lead him to the lost artifacts. He didn't even know now if they still existed. They might well have been destroyed when the immortal historian Cassius had died. The clues seemed to indicate that he'd hid them somewhere for Darius… but where? Were they at Waterloo… or was there only a clue there that he had yet to find… a clue that would lead him elsewhere?

Alisaunne crossed to the small refrigerator and opened it. "I'd offer you something to eat… but I don't have anything here. I really don't live here, you know."

Duncan smiled. "I know. Your parents told me you have place over on _Rue Monge_."

Alisaunne snorted and then glanced at Duncan. "I'm sorry. I have as hard a time relating to them as my parents as they have relating to me."

"They love you."

Alisaunne closed the refrigerator door. "I know. But sometimes that's not enough. We're just too different. They don't need me… all they need is each other."

"I think you're selling them short. Have you spoken to them about this?"

Alisaunne shrugged.

"Well you should," Duncan said softly. Then he clapped his hands together and rubbed them… one over the other. ""Let me take you to dinner."

Alisaunne looked down at her attire. "I don't think I'm dressed for dinner out."

"We can stop by your place so you can change," Duncan winked.

He was rewarded by a warm smile. "I'd like that," she replied. "I really would."

* * *

They rode the open-cage elevator to the fourth floor of the building. Alisaunne had waved and chatted in easy French to a few of the other denizens of the building as they'd crossed the small lobby and as the elevator had passed the other floors.

"You seem to be getting on well," Duncan murmured softly.

"It's a life," she said with a laugh as she let him into her apartment. A quick glance showed him the same neat as a pin look to the place as he'd noted in the grove. He smiled as he recognized a few of the pieces he'd given her over the years.

"Make yourself at home, Duncan," she said cheerfully. "I'm gonna shower and change." She gave a little wave as she closed the door to her bedroom and moments later he heard the shower running.

Duncan pulled off his long coat… shook it slightly and then lay it across the back of a chair. He crossed to the windows, looking down at the rainy Paris street and shivered slightly. It was cold here as well. He turned and wandered about the room… noting a photograph in a brass frame. He lifted it. It must have been taken before her first death when she was still in college. She was sitting on the steps of the history building… books in her hands, smiling at the camera. Beside her sat Ian… looking at her in wonder.

Duncan set the photo back down with a sigh. Ian's death had been a blow to Alisaunne from which she'd yet to recover. She'd absorbed his quickening when he'd been killed… and had wept bitter tears. He was a part of her… and yet she did not have his memories.

"It's as though he wasn't there," she'd explained. "I have his power… but nothing of him… nothing of who he was… or what he knew… or learned… or thought."

Grace had theorized that it was because Ian had been in a drug-induced and drained state much as many of the other immortals they'd rescued had been. Those survivors were still unconscious… and she feared that they might never awaken. When his physical body had died… and Alisaunne had been the nearest immortal to him… she'd received his power… but not his soul.

Duncan turned when he heard the door open. She was toweling dry her hair and wrapped in a pink silk kimono with dragons embroidered on it. "Do you want some tea?" she asked. "I usually have some after I come home and clean up."

"That'd be nice," Duncan said.

As she passed him, she paused to reposition the photo ever so slightly, and then continued into the small kitchen. "I know it's cold here… but I like it cold," she said by way of apology as she busied herself preparing the tea.

Glancing into the kitchen Duncan could likewise see the precise placement of items and her exact and practiced movements as she worked. Something felt odd. It was as if she had a routine… and couldn't seem to move beyond it. He brushed the thought away as she asked about Amanda and other immortals.

They chatted amiably as she finished and brought a tray into the main room and settled it precisely on a low table. She poured him a cup and offered it with a shrug. "It's nothing special… just something hot."

"I'm sure it's fine," he replied.

She poured hers and lifted the cup in both hands… blowing on the hot liquid. Slowly she began to sip… her eyes glazed over as if her thoughts were far away. Duncan could not help but notice that the kimono had parted slightly over her legs. He found himself… as always when he was alone with her… painfully aware of her sexuality. She seemed to exude it unconsciously with every move. And yet… she seemed totally unaware of it. He shifted position and reached for one of the cookies she'd arranged on a plate.

Alisaunne ran fingers through her damp hair idly and then smiled at him. "I guess I need to finish dressing. I seldom go out… you know."

"Perhaps you should," he replied. "You shouldn't cut yourself off from others."

"I don't… but… I do spend a lot of time alone." She carefully set her cup on its saucer and turned it so that the handle faced to the right. Then she re-arranged the cookies to fill in the hole he'd made. Satisfied, she rose with a smile. "I'll get dressed." She swept past him, the edge of the kimono flaring open to reveal her long legs as she passed.

Duncan let out a deep focused breath after her door closed once more and he shut his eyes… recalling all too clearly the feel of her in his arms that day… and the taste of her on his lips. He gulped again at the tea as if to remind himself that Nestor's influence over her had been very strong that day. He wiped his brow, surprised that he was sweating.

"You know," he called out to her through the door, "I thought I might head up to Waterloo again tomorrow. Would you be interested in coming?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Duncan. The farther from the grove I am… the more my defenses crumble."

"You can still hear Nestor?"

"Sometimes. Oh not words… but I have a sense of him as if he sleeps… waiting for me. You heard what happened when I went to Niebos?"

Duncan nodded. He'd heard. She'd torn about the island shrieking in her attempts to find the hidden body. But whether she'd wanted to release him or kill him had not been clear. Phillip had brought her back to Paris.

He gathered the tea things and carried the tray into the kitchen, setting it on the counter near the sink before heading back into the main room.

She re-entered from the bedroom, pushing the sleeves of her maroon sweater over her elbows. Her long suede skirt over her mid-calf boots still managed to show off her height and long legs to best advantage. She fluffed her hair as she paused before a mirror and methodically checked her makeup and appearance. She unpinned a cameo from where it lay to one side on the shawl collar and adjusted its position slightly. Then she smiled, turned and struck a pose. "Do I pass muster?"

"You look fine," Duncan replied with a laugh. He pulled on his coat and held up hers to slip into, then offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Over dinner he asked if she'd met any other immortals in Paris recently. She forked eagerly into her steak tatar with gusto, apparently enjoying the uncooked and marinated meat. After a few bites she looked at him oddly. "I've met a few. I don't really associate with them… though. I have work to do… and I don't want to take the chance of the game interfering."

"Have you heard about a female hunting others?"

Alisaunne shrugged. "I'm seldom out at night."

"I didn't say she was hunting at night."

Alisaunne paused and lay her fork down. She picked up her wineglass and sipped. Then she set it down, her fingers still lingering on the stem. "What are you asking?"

Duncan leaned forward. "Are you hunting?"

"Occasionally. What if I am? It's what we do. We're all killers. You taught me that." There was a flat tone to her words.

Duncan sat back in his chair… aware that this might not be the place to discuss this. He glanced about at the faces of the other diners in the restaurant… looking to see if anyone was watching them closely. While Joe might not have anyone on him, there might be someone on her. But if there were… it wasn't obvious. "I taught you to defend yourself… not to hunt."

"Oh? And here I thought that was precisely what you arranged for me my first time." She smiled at his discomfort. He had arranged for her to go hunting. He'd wanted to be certain she could do it. And then other things had interfered. Had she gotten a skewed sense of the game based on that first encounter?

"I just wanted to be certain you were ready," Duncan mumbled softly.

"And I am. Oh… I don't go looking for a fight. I have other concerns… as I said. But neither do I run from one. I face my opponent with all the skill you gave me. I fight with… what was the term you once used… ah yes… heart and faith and steel."

Duncan nodded. "That's all we can do… it's just that…" he smiled with a shrug. "I worry."

"Well don't be. I'm fine." She forked another mouthful of meat and swallowed, licking her lips afterwards.

Again he felt her raw power. Duncan grimaced slightly, wondering again what the ancients had been up to in creating her. In many ways, she was an immortal from another time… perhaps more akin to the ancients than she was to any of them… even Methos. Duncan had always felt that she had a dark and sinister side. Was it Nestor's influence? Or had she had it even before the monster had attacked her. He didn't know… he'd barely known her. At any rate, it was part of her now. Perhaps if Ian had lived… it would not have held sway over her.

He shifted in his seat and shrugged. "Just because we can and do… doesn't mean we don't have a choice. If what the symbols are telling us is true… then we don't have to continue with the game. We can choose to end it."

"But the feel of the quickening," she began, leaning forward in her chair, "… is intoxicating. It's the only time I really feel alive."

Duncan saw such sadness in her eyes reflected in her eyes. Alisaunne had not asked for this life… nor had she asked to be different. In many ways, he understood her confusion and despair as events that happened in his life. But unlike the pivotal disownment by a father, Alisaunne had never known parents… had instead found them. Perhaps it was the realization that the one person she'd loved and trusted as a child… had lied to her… even though he had done so for her best interests. Duncan reached out to clasp her hand… surprised when she pulled it sharply back and lay both hands in her lap. "Ali…" he whispered. "I only want to help."

She shook her head. "It's not help I need. I have to learn to deal with all of this on my own. Maybe I can't find the answers I need because I'm not ready yet. They're there… just the other side of my thoughts. I can see them… but they make no sense… like the writing on the cavern wall." Alisaunne brushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled thinly. "I have to fight my demons myself, Duncan." She waved her hand diffidently at him. "I can't depend on others. I'll be fine."

Duncan let the subject drop for the time being. He wanted to discover what was going on with her… and to re-assure himself that she was not the "Black Widow" as the Watchers had styled the female head-hunting immortal, but this was neither the time… nor the place. Ears could be listening to them… eyes could be watching.


	4. Penumbra, part 1

**Penumbra, part 1:**

Once back at her flat, Alisaunne seemed to relax a bit. She carefully hung her coat in the closet, brushing away the drops of rain, and offered him a drink or coffee.

Duncan lay his coat on the back of the divan. "Coffee would be nice."

She excused herself into the kitchen… from which he suddenly heard a gasp and then water running. Glancing in, he watched her wash the tea things from earlier with a desperate air… as if something was out of place and had to be dealt with before she could move on.

He picked up a towel to help dry things… momentarily breaking into her obsessive behavior. "Let me help," he said with a smile.

Her hands trembled slightly… but she nodded… as if fighting the instinct to finish the job alone. Once things were dried, she put them away, carefully positioning everything in a set manner. Only once the dishes were put away, the towel carefully folded and re-hung, and the kitchen neat, did she begin to make coffee.

"Aren't you getting a bit obsessive-compulsive?" he finally asked as she stood watching the coffee drip into the carafe.

She glanced up sharply and then shrugged. "I have to stay in control. If I lose control… I have black-outs."

"Black-outs?" Duncan asked with concern.

"Oh… nothing major. I just lose track of time. Sometimes I wake up and things are moved. This way I can tell if it's happened… this making certain things are where I left them."

Duncan lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I don't like the sound of this."

The coffee had finished dripping. Alisaunne lifted the carafe and poured them each a cup, "It's de-caf," she said handing him one cup." She motioned toward the sugar and creamer. "As I recall… you take it black… but I have…"

Duncan set his cup down and clasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "The coffee is unimportant. The cleanup is unimportant. What _is_ important is you… and your well-being. I'm here for you. Whatever you need… let me help."

Unlike the restaurant, Alisaunne did not pull away. She regarded him with tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm so tired sometimes," she whispered. "It's so hard to remain in control."

"Then let me help," he repeated.

As if a dam had broken, The tears fell and she stepped closer, crying into his chest. He dropped her hand to hug her shaking shoulders, murmuring softly that it was fine… he was here… he would help. At some point… she looked up and met his gaze… then her lips touched his. For a moment… Duncan responded… as he had at other times… feeling the presence of a beautiful and willing woman in his arms. Then conscience reared its head.

"We can't," he murmured as he tried to pull away. Her lips found his again and her desperate kiss melted his resolve. With a groan… his hands clutched her tighter and he began to bend her backward… All that was important in this moment… was having her.

Duncan whirled her around to the table… sweeping one hand over it to clear it so that he could take her here and now. The sound of crashing condiments did not deter him. If anything… it made him more eager. There was something primal about this. He lifted her to the table… still kissing her. He felt her hands slip under his sweater… her fingers dig into his skin with desperation. She moaned and kissed him ever more urgently. Her legs clasped his hips as he bent her down. He broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck and felt her hands pull eagerly at his belt.

At that point… Joe's words about the condition of the beheaded immortals came back to him. They'd been found with their pants down about their ankles… as if they'd had no choice… as if something else had drawn them into an assignation which had cost them their heads… and their lives.

Breathing harshly… he stopped and stared at her closed eyes… and the look of need on her face as her open mouth worked up and down in gasps. He clutched her fingers with his right hand and pulled them away from his now loosened belt. She fought to free them… to grasp his zipper. "No," he said. "Not like this… not this way."

Alisaunne opened her eyes, staring at him curiously. She lifted her head to kiss him again… as if that would bring him back. He grabbed her by her upper arms… even as they flowed around his neck to pull him down again. He pushed her down… stared at her lying there… and then backed away. He turned and re-buckled his belt as she wept behind him.

Wiping his mouth, and still tasting her… wanting her… he stumbled into the main room to put some distance between them. She called to the darkness that was still in his soul… the darkness of the dark quickening… the part of him that had wanted Ian dead so that he could have her. But Duncan was determined to subdue that part of him once more. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Over him… the shadows of darkness held no sway. He leaned on the back of the small divan while he calmed his breathing and cleared his thoughts… gradually re-gaining control.

"I thought you wanted to help," she said from behind him. "I'm alone… and I need someone. What's wrong with it being you?"

"I'm with Amanda," Duncan said.

"So? I'm not asking you to leave her… only to fill the emptiness in my arms for a single night. I miss him Duncan. I loved him so much and no matter what I did… I couldn't save him." She closed in on him… but stopped a few feet away. "I'm lonely."

"This isn't the way, Ali. I'm your friend and your teacher. That's enough."

"You want it too. I felt it in your kiss. We're alike… you and I; we've both been touched by darkness. Together we can… we can banish it."

"Together we give into it. I…" he paused dramatically. "… _will_ not give in." Duncan gestured for emphasis. But whether he was trying to convince himself or her… he was no longer certain. Shaking his head he grabbed his coat. "I better leave. If you change your mind about Waterloo… call me tomorrow."

"I won't."

"Good night then." He pulled the coat on, feeling its dampness as surely as if it had been a cold shower. He felt calmer… more in control. Resolutely he stepped to the door, turned the knob, opened and left. Later on the street… Duncan lifted his face to the rain and felt the cold drops flow over him… cooling him down. He ducked into his car and started it… letting it warm up while blew on his hands and breathed evenly. He'd call Methos when he returned to his hotel room. The old man needed to know what was happening with his daughter… and Duncan's suspicions about her recent activities.

* * *

Alisaunne watched Duncan's car drive off in the pouring rain. Curling on the divan, she pulled a throw over her as she stared at the small pool of light the lamp put off. She could see the picture of Ian and her from here… but even if she hadn't… she could close her eyes and see it. Moreover… she could remember ever detail of the day it had been taken.

_It had been early fall… Autumn… late September. She'd met Ian on the steps of the history building and kissed him. He'd blushed. The tips of ears beneath the shock of his white hair were scarlet and he'd shuffled his feet nervously. She could smell leaves burning in the snap of cold air._

_She'd run a run hand into the crook of his elbow._

_"Honestly… silly. Why don't you dress for the weather?" she'd teased. He was wearing only a lightweight jacket against the sudden cold._

_"I don't feel the cold like you do, beautiful." He'd shrugged and she'd kissed the tip of his nose… cold and red in the raw wind._

_Celeste and Roger had waved and joined them, Celeste with camera in hand. "Let me take your photo."_

_Alisaunne had posed, her books in her arms… laughing as Celeste pretended to be a fashion photographer. "Come on… work it… work it," she'd laughed._

_Alisaunne had grabbed Ian and pulled him into the shot. She'd made a face at the camera moments after the shutter clicked._

It had been a good day… years before immortality had found her. Years even, before Ian had begun pulling away from her. They hadn't even been lovers that day… just good friends… and the promise of a future together had lain on them both.

"I like it cold," Ian had once said. "It let's me know I'm alive."

So she shivered beneath the throw and whispered, "I'm alive… I'm alive." But she didn't feel alive… she felt cold and dead. And the sound of the rain sounded like ocean waves roaring in her ears.

* * *

During the night… the rain finally dissipated. By morning, the world look fresh and clean as only it can after an all-day rain. Colors seemed brighter, as a warm breeze drifted over a Paris that seemed eager for the daylight.

And by mid-morning, Duncan was eager to leave. He'd listened to Joe's concerns; he'd checked up on Alisaunne; he'd called Methos and filled him in on his suspicions. There was nothing else to keep him here. He was ready to go.

And yet he dawdled over a late brunch. He forked his omelet and pushed parts of it around on the plate. He lifted his coffee to his lips and then set it down. He stared at the pedestrians who passed by the open-air café. And he worried.

No matter what… Ali was his student… his responsibility. If she were the one hunting the night in such a manner and with no regard for the Watchers… then he had to stop her. If her values were skewed… it was likely his fault. He'd encouraged her to be the best she could be. He'd taken her out hunting that first time. He'd taught her to kill swiftly and without mercy… to use every advantage she had… and then been taken aback when she'd been excited by it rather than chagrined. He'd wanted to comfort her… he'd looked forward to it. But it was Ian she had always turned to. Had he wished the young man dead? Duncan shook his head… surely not… and yet he had to admit that he'd watched the two of them with jealous eyes. Even after he'd located Amanda… there had still been something unsaid… undone between himself and Alisaunne. She called to the darkness in him as no other woman ever had.

Even sitting here in the sunlight, thinking of her… he was drawn to her and physically responded to her and her overt invitation. If he closed his eyes… he could still feel her and taste her… somewhere on the fringes of his consciousness.

"_Pardon monsieur_."

He opened his eyes and nodded to the waiter to take the remnants of his meal. He sat forward, his elbows on the table as he covered his face and tried to think.

At the feel of a passing immortal… he glanced up and around… momentarily startled. He noted a man on the far side of the street looking around… his gaze fell on Duncan and he paused, licking his lips. Duncan rose, peeled off some Euros and left the cafe, straight for the man. Once he reached his side, he gave him his name.

"I've heard of you _monsieur_. I am Claude Duroché. People say you are a man of honor."

Duncan smirked, still feeling the remnants of the darkness cling to him. "What do they say of you?"

"Ah… _certainment_. They say I am an _artiste_."

Duncan laughed. "How come I've never heard of you?"

"I am not a very good _artiste_," Duroché shrugged. He was a small man, stoop-shouldered, and looked to be in his early fifties. But appearances, as Duncan knew well… could be deceiving. He glanced about and located the man's Watcher easily. She was across the street and staring far too intently into a shop window whose display did not merit the attention she gave it. Likely Duroché did not know of Watchers… not all of them did… only those whose lives had been impacted by them two years before.

"Let's talk," Duncan suggested and walked off. Duroché followed.

* * *

"I tell you they just vanished," Lydia Campbell complained as she checked in. "It was Duncan MacLeod who made off with him!"

Joe sighed. The only reason he was talking to her was because she claimed it was MacLeod. Duroché was a relatively new immortal. He'd been in his early fifties when he'd first died a few years ago, and was not a main player. Lydia was on her first assignment. Why would Mac have vanished with Duroché? Was he working on the Black Widow case by interviewing the man? Joe's head pounded with questions and doubts. What the hell was going on?

"Look Lydia, MacLeod's a good guy. He doesn't like us following him too closely. He likely just wanted to talk to Duroché and see if he knew anything about this killer hunting in Paris. Instead of spinning your wheels trying to find him… check out the places he haunts… or his apartment."

He finally got her to calm down and she seemed re-assured as she rang off. Joe pulled up both MacLeod's file and Duroché's attempting to see if there was any reason for them to talk. He was still deep in his research when the phone rang again.

"Dawson!" he snapped. Then he paled and sat back in his chair. Claude Duroché had been found… minus his head. A recovery team was cleaning up the mess.

Surely it couldn't have been MacLeod! Joe swiftly ended the phone conversation and pulled open a desk drawer to retrieve his bottle of bourbon. After he'd downed some liquid courage… he called MacLeod, only to get his voice mail. "Damn it Mac!" Joe seethed. "Where are you?"


	5. Penumbra, part 2

**Penumbra, part 2:**

Duncan let himself into the grove. She was here… he could feel her. He waited by the spring for her to join him. Alisaunne appeared on the landing high above and stared at him curiously.

"Come down here," he said, motioning at her.

"I told you I don't dare go to Waterloo," she replied as she slowly descended the steps. "It's not safe!"

"I know."

"So what's this about?"

"Last night," Duncan replied harshly. "We have some unfinished business."

Alisaunne halted on the steps. "I'm sorry about that. I was feeling needy and very clingy. You were right to leave."

"Down here… now!" Duncan barked with an edge of menace in his voice.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Go home, Duncan! Sleep it off."

Duncan shook his head, as he crossed to the base of the stairs and climbed, taking several stairs with each step. Once he reached her, he pulled her tightly into his arms and kissed her harshly, biting at her and running his tongue wetly over her. At first she pulled back… but… as he expected… she began to respond eagerly to him. With a leer, he twisted suddenly and tossed her to the ground, ten feet below and then leaped down beside her.

She looked at him with confusion.

He laughed and spread his arms as he crouched next to her. "Isn't this what you wanted? Your darkness and mine?"

She shook her head and backed away, then turned to scramble to her feet. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her back covering her heavily while she struggled beneath him. "Not so much fun when you don't hold all the cards… is it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alisaunne protested.

"I think you do. You want to be loved so much that you kill them. Why Ali? Because you only feel release in the quickening? Is that the only time you can climax?"

"Let me go! You're scaring me!"

He ran his hands under her sweatshirt and fondled her breasts. His tongue rammed into her ear. "You were the one who wanted this. But here… where it's safe. Not where you can kill me. I call the shots!"

"Stop it!" she screamed as she fought futilely against him. Her struggles inflamed him even further.

Duncan rose up to lean over her as he held her down. She was nearly hysterical. Likely visions of Nestor's rape were filling her mind. He rolled off of her and lay on the grass while she curled sobbing into a ball. The throbbing between his legs gradually lessened.

Once he was in control, Duncan rose and pulled out a handkerchief, which he dunked into the water. He squeezed the excess out and handed it to her. She took it and wiped her face… then turned away from him, silently weeping.

"I'm sorry, Ali," he said. "I wanted you to think about this… about what it is that you want. It was the only way."

She continued to weep. She was both strongest and weakest here. She was more in control of her darkness… but she was also more fragile. He'd feared he'd gone too far and that she'd snapped. He did want her… hell he'd always wanted her at least once, since she'd become immortal. But not this way… and not while she thought she was in control and needing love… but not necessarily needing him.

Duncan sat on the edge of the stones and waited. Finally he spoke up. "I called Methos. He'll be here soon. He said he was bringing you some help."

"I don't need help!" she choked out.

"I think you do, Ali. I really do."

"Would you have raped me?" she finally asked.

Duncan chuckled ever so slightly. "That's not who I am. But when I was lost in that darkness that you seem to want me to give in to again… that's who I was. Believe me… you don't want that Duncan. If there ever comes a time for us… it will be because it is something we both want… not because of need or convenience… but because it is right."

Alisaunne rolled onto her back and looked at him tearfully.

"You need to get control of this and move on with your life. You're too engrossed in research here. Don't make the mistake that Darius did and let this place take over your life. And don't let Nestor's lingering darkness rule your actions. You have to fight that… or accept it as part of who you are. That's what I had to learn. We are all of us, the sum of all that we've learned. Because we have such long lives, our emotions are stronger. We have to be stronger. We have to choose who we are and how we face the world."

She nodded, but Duncan didn't think she truly understood. He settled on the ground next to her and gently cupped her chin in his hand. "You are beautiful, smart, and desirable. If I weren't otherwise involved… I might stop by and see if we could make a go of it for a while. But not now. Not like this."

She nodded in his hand and smiled tearfully. He leaned down to kiss her lightly… as if in promise of someday. And then he pulled back and released her. Alisaunne sat up and embraced him. "I do care about you, Duncan. You are my dearest friend. But you're right. It's not you that I want so much as Ian. I have to let him go… or I'll never be complete… but it's hard."

"I know," he said stroking her hair. "I've told you about Tessa and how hard that was for me."

"But she was mortal. You knew you'd lose her. Ian shouldn't have died."

"No, he shouldn't have. Not the way that he did."

"And his quickening just lays on me like some inert thing… as if he's not there. His memories are not a part of who I am."

"Then you'll have to remember for him… all the times that you two were together… the good and the bad. Maybe he'll answer to that… maybe he'll awaken just enough to give you all that he is."

For several hours, they sat in the grass near the sacred spring, and holding one another, and rocked back and forth in companionable silence.

* * *

Once Methos had arrived with Cassandra, Duncan left the grove and waited by his car. Eventually Methos emerged to join him.

"Cassandra?" Duncan asked.

Methos shrugged. "She's the best we've got these days. Eleanor and I had talked about it the last time we were here. We both felt that Alisaunne needed something more than we could give her."

"But Cassandra?"

"We've made our peace, Duncan. What lay between us is three thousand years old. We grow, adapt, change, and move on… or we die. Change is the only constant of our existence. I moved on… she didn't. Cassandra had to let go of the past to find her freedom. She had to release her hate and reform it into a desire to live before she could find internal peace. It's done."

"And you trust her?"

Again Methos shrugged. "I have to."

Duncan shook his head. His own feelings about Cassandra's actions were still tinged with bitterness. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"You and me both. There are dangers in letting a woman who plotted my demise for millennia counsel my disturbed daughter. But I have to take the chance. I can't help her. I doubt even Eleanor could help her now. No… Cassandra is the best choice. Besides…" he shrugged with a grin, "… she might help her deal with the voice of Nestor that Alisaunne occasionally hears."

"What's behind that?"

Methos shook his head. "Phillip has Valeraine contained somewhere. Only he and Reagan Cole know where exactly and neither of them is talking. She's dead until he says otherwise. As for Nestor… who knows. His evil seems to transcend even death. He told us that if mortals killed him and his quickening was lost… he'd find a way to return… remember? So until we find a way to end it… he's contained."

"But he still reaches her."

"They're bonded the same way as Eleanor and I are… as others will be when the time is right. She is likely his one outlet on the world. But he can't always be in control. Evidently there is some variable I don't yet understand in their relationship."

"So she remains on the edge of the shadow… not yet lost in darkness… but drawn to it," Duncan nodded.

"Yes," replied Methos curtly. "We both know how dark and enticing the shadows can be MacLeod. We've been there. She's still so young… that she might not find her way back to the light without help. But that help has to come from within her. Cassandra might be able to teach her the tools to make that leap of faith so that it will happen."

Duncan nodded and answered his phone as it began once more to ring. "Hey… Joe!" he said with a grin and a slight hand motion to Methos. "What's up?" As he listened he sobered and closed his eyes. "Can't help you Joe… but it wasn't me. Yeah… I'll meet you for an early dinner and we can talk." He closed the phone. "Evidently someone else was shadowing me earlier and killed an immortal I talked to."

Methos sighed heavily with a nod. "And despite your best efforts… the game goes on. You know, MacLeod, even if the game is a lie, we still have to convince others of that. I sincerely doubt we can save them all. Some will hunt and kill… and friends will die. We cannot be everywhere. We cannot reach them all."

Duncan nodded and shook hands before climbing into his car. "We do what we can. If I have a shadow… be careful. I wouldn't want him to get you."

"I wouldn't want him to get me either," Methos smirked as Duncan drove off. He looked around… wondering if someone were watching… or just following. He took a great breath and headed for his own car. He was through here and he wanted to get home. Within his mind… he sensed Eleanor laugh. "_Yes! Come home… we miss you_."


	6. Starlight and Moonlight

**Starlight and Moonlight:**

Duncan rose slightly as Joe wheeled in to the _cafe_. He grinned as the Watcher managed to efficiently maneuver between the tables and smirk at others' unease at his entrance.

"God, I love it when I can make a helluva entrance!" Joe laughed as the _maître d'_ removed a chair with a bow to make room for Joe's mechanized one.

Over lunch, Joe told the Highlander about Duroché. "Same as the others Mac. 'Cept she's gettin daring. This was in broad daylight in a dark alley near his home. His Watcher was still tryin' to locate him after he left with you. Where'd you two go… anyway?"

Duncan shook his head with a shrug. "Just to the nearest church. I asked about whom he knew in Paris… female immortals in particular… that might be hunting. Then we parted."

"Any leads? Joe asked as he sipped his water.

Duncan shook his head. The one lead he had… he wasn't about to share. He feared what the Watchers would do, if it were indeed Alisaunne hunting immortals… and wounding Watchers in the process. That she had no love for them… he knew only too well. Part of her blamed all of them for Ian's death… not just the ones who'd overstepped the boundaries of what they were.

He'd protect Joe. He'd protect the Watchers and their secrets. But he had to protect Alisaunne as well. She might be the key to the immortals' future. And until that day came, she needed to be protected. Methos and Cassandra would deal with her from here on out. Cassandra would be with her as no one else could be for now. As for Duroché… Duncan had to admit that it was strange. Had she followed him… and then Duroché? He hadn't warned the man… only pumped him for information. The specter of guilt for having caused the death of another immortal hung over him.

"Thing is…" Joe was saying, "She musta branched out for some reason. There's no reason we can think of why she went after Duroché… he was harmless. Course now… his paintings will likely sell." Joe shook his head. Leave it to him to find something bizarrely upbeat about all of this.

"How's your Watcher… the one who was injured?" Duncan finally asked as if to relieve the guilt attempting to choke him.

"Recovering. Say… weren't you off to Waterloo or something?"

Duncan nodded. "Soon as we're done. I want to take another look around the place before heading back to Florence."

"Home to Amanda," Joe said. "Give her my love."

Duncan nodded.

The rest of the meal passed in chitchat about people in common that they knew… both mortal and immortal. Sometimes it surprised Duncan just how much he and the old Watcher had in common. Or maybe it was the outgrowth of the trials they'd been through and what they'd each done for the other. Consequently… the people Joe cared about… Duncan cared about… and vice versa. When it was over and there was nothing more to say… they left.

Duncan saw Joe to his chauffeur-driven lift-van and then stood waiting in the pale December sunshine of late afternoon. Already the sky was deepening to cobalt blue… and on the horizon were threads of magenta and gold as the sun set. Like fairy lights, the lights of Paris were sprinkling on all over the city. Duncan returned to his car and climbed in. He called about reservations in Meziéres and indicated he would have a late check-in. Then he headed out of the city into the darkness of the French countryside.

* * *

The darkness deepened as he drove. In the distance he could see the lights of an occasional habitation, or the passing lights of another vehicle. His instrument panel glowed a faint green… and the world seemed defined by the glow of his headlights on the road before him. Duncan felt as if the world had shrunk to this one spot, and wondered if it might not have been better to have stayed another night in Paris.

When his phone rang, he answered. It was Amanda, calling to whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

"I thought you were going earlier today?" she pouted slightly. "I thought you might be on your way home."

"Miss me?" he teased.

"Desperately. I've had a horrid day with the contractors." She was fixing up the villa she'd inherited from Rebecca… trying to bring it into… at least the twentieth century without ruining its Old World ambiance. Had it not been her project of the month, and Duncan chuckled as he thought of her projects, she might have come with him. But if she had… what would have happened with Alisaunne?

He felt guilty about thinking of his student while talking to his lover. And yet once he'd thought of her… he found it hard to stop. He could see her laughing in the sunlight in Tunisia where he'd trained her. He could see her wide-eyed innocence when he'd first met her… and she'd asked him to sign that silly book. "Are you Duncan MacLeod?" she'd said and held out Carolyn Marsh's trashy novel. He could see it now… her resemblance to Methos. But that day… she'd only been some young pre-immortal girl.

"Are you listening to me?" Amanda said petulantly.

"I'm listening. The plumber wants to rip up the marble tile. Amanda… it's the only way to get to the pipes."

"But those tiles are fifteenth century!"

"Then tell him he has to sub-contract a tile-man who will preserve their integrity."

"Ooh… I wish you were here. You know how to talk construction!" she teased.

"I'll be home soon," he promised as he rang off. "I have to go… I see the lights ahead. I'm coming to Meziéres."

He was indeed and found his hotel… an older one with lush rooms and five-star service. For once… he wanted the best. He collapsed into the darkness of the room… and slept soundly.

* * *

Duncan was uncertain what had awakened him. It was still dark… and his watch indicated that dawn was still hours away. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed while he rubbed his head. He'd let his hair grow back out in the last two years. Amanda liked it long and had said so. He rose and made a trip to the facilities… feeling immense relief as he used them. He'd likely drunk too much yesterday and it was returning to haunt him. He was becoming far too settled in a life… and travel did not agree with him. He was getting too old for the adventures of his youth when he'd traveled Europe with an eager eye.

He was about to fall into the bed once more, when he felt the tingle of a presence… light… almost intangible… as if it floated somewhere in the night. He grasped his _katana _and inched quietly toward the door, but saw and heard no one in the hallway. Moreover… the presence faded slightly. Curiously he crossed to the windows and pulled aside a drape.

There in the darkness below… he noted a figure on the edge of the pools of light covering the parking lot. Someone dressed in flowing black… like some ringwraith of popular fiction… seemed to glide in the shadows… enticing him.

He leaned on the glass… breathing harshly… feeling a need and curiosity to meet the Black Widow face to face… and see if it was indeed Alisaunne. He could almost hear her in the darkness whispering for him to love her… come to her. He closed his eyes and let her presence flow over him like a warm caress. Soon, her lips were firm against his… her body taut. His _katana_ slipped uselessly from his fingers as he explored her white body in the inky blackness of the night… He entered her… letting his passion consume him. He felt her respond to him… her face still a blur, her moans of pleasure coming faster and faster as she moved against him. He thrust harder and harder, until he was moments from release… then felt the blade at his throat.


	7. Dappled Light

**Dappled Light:**

Duncan struggled awake in the early dawn… aware that nightmares had disrupted his sleep again and again. Like some succubus of myth she'd come to him in dreams and drained him over and over. It was likely only the tension of the past few days and his close encounters with Alisaunne that had caused the dreams… as well as his fear that she was the thing in the shadows combined with his desire for her. He was bone-tired… nevertheless… he wanted to get to the battlefield site and walk the hills one more time.

He was there by mid-morning… a gray, cloudy day that did not offer even the promise of winter warmth. There had been a heavy frost this morning… and his footsteps were visible on the stubbled brown grass. The battle had been in June… and yet he seemed to recall snow. Perhaps it was his own winter of despair that he'd been in… feeling that immortality was only one long battle. He'd recently lost friends in battle. Sometimes it seemed as though he'd been fighting for two hundred years.

Was Darius the light that had come to him… bringing back warmth and hope in a world devoid of both? Like the sun, which marked it's turning on the shortest day of the year… midwinter's day… his birthday… he'd found the days since Waterloo filled with promise. Even the dark days he'd known somehow seemed brighter in light of his meeting Darius.

He lined up by a stand of trees, as he always did and stepped off the distance to the point where he'd met him, heavily cloaked and passing among the wounded… not to kill… but to heal. Almost as if he'd come home, Duncan paused at the spot where they'd bumped shoulders and looked around for anything that would speak to him of that day. Almost by rote he stepped quickly to his right… and stood where he'd laid his friend… where Darius had given him medicine. Here was where he'd stared at the on-going battle and Darius had asked him to consider another way.

"I have," Duncan whispered to the barren field. "I've tried to live a good life, Darius. I've tried to make a difference. I can't be you. I knew it then. Was that why you never trusted me with your secrets?" Staring into the distance across the field, barren of most human life this time of year, he tried to recall the cannon fire that took heads and limbs… the screams of horses plunging in pain to the ground… and the cries of men wounded and dying. Duncan shuddered at the memory of bloodshed and carnage.

Not too far from here the trenches of World War I had snaked across Europe. One hundred years after Napoleon's defeat… warfare had become a deadly mechanized affair. And one hundred years after that? Duncan feared if mankind engaged again in another all-out war, it would destroy itself. With that thought, he turned abruptly to make his way to the small chapel on the neighboring farm… where wounded men had gathered out of the way of the battle… and a French priest had tended to them… an immortal who had no fear of death.

The chapel was part of the battlefield memorial these days. Display cases of equipment, buckles, messenger pouches, and weapons littered the small building. Only here did Duncan note a few other tourists… their gentle patter and laughter in stark contrast to the silence he felt. He wandered among the displays… realizing that if any clue had been left here… it had likely been covered over with paint and repairs. This was no longer the small chapel… it was a museum.

Sighing as he always did when he was here, Duncan stood near where he'd stood that day… the day that Darius in the midst of the wounded had been asked why he did this and he'd tried to explain. _We are all of us brothers and sisters. Who then… is my enemy?_

Duncan moved closer to where Darius had stood… his eyes twinkling in amusement as if he'd known and understood some secret that even now Duncan strained to understand. He stood in the approximate spot and stared out at the modern museum and the tourists, a few of who glanced at him sharply. _Am I blind?_ Duncan thought. _Am I like Ali below the church staring at something that ought to make sense and yet doesn't because I'm not ready to see it? What more must I do?_

He closed his eyes to recall the chapel… not as it was… but as it had been. Bare beams of dark wood spanning the heights of the squat Romanesque building… a flagged stone floor upon which men sat or lay. Sunlight had filtered through the narrow windows of leaded glass… creating a kaleidoscope of color across them all.

Now… white paint covered everything. Electric lights hung from the beams, and the glass, shattered long ago by warfare… had been replaced with clear panes that offered slots of glare onto the outside winter day. Duncan sighed. This place had likely been de-sanctified… and yet… it still felt holy… as if the actions of that day nearly two hundred years ago had hallowed this ground in such a way that mere words could never undo it.

It was that way with many battlefields, Duncan knew. The places where the dead were buried become sacred by their death. Abraham Lincoln had understood it in 1863 when he'd dedicated the cemetery at Gettysburg. The actions of those who died here had hallowed the ground far more than any words spoken over them.

Neither Cassius nor Darius traveled much in the modern world. The old Roman historian had remained barricaded in his Paris home for the two hundred years that Duncan had known of him. Darius had remained at his church… at least as far as Duncan had known… and his parishioners never seemed to notice that he never changed. Neither of them could have brought anything here. No… it was something subtler. It had to be. If only he had eyes to see it.

Letting the chuckle well up, Duncan stepped smartly through the entrance to return to his car. It was time to head home. Once more the secret had eluded him, yet he felt oddly comforted that he'd come to an understanding that he'd not had before. When he was ready… when the immortals were ready… the answer would reveal itself.

He returned to Paris, promising himself only a single night in the city, before returning to Italy. Following a quiet and solitary meal at the hotel, he discovered that he was restless and decided to walk for a bit before turning in. He felt like a caged tiger… filled with boundless energy that needed an outlet or he would explode.

His wanderings led him to the Eiffel Tower… lit up like some steel-girded Christmas tree. Around him… street players performed as part of the festivities of the on-coming season. It wasn't _carnivale_… but it was part of the atmosphere of tourism. Voices rang out in glee… and sang the lyrics of familiar carols in many languages. Duncan laughed joyously at the antics of street mimes, and watched handholding young lovers discover the city and one another.

It was then that he felt her… slipping past in the shadows… a figure swathed in black… calling to him on some basic level to which he felt obligated to respond. He left the lights behind him… and followed her into the darkness.

-----


	8. Umbra

**Umbra**

Duncan found it strange that the lights and merriment of the plaza before the tower could so easily become only a memory among the twisting narrow streets off the main thoroughfares. The upper stories of old buildings overhung above him… and here only the occasional light glimmered through a window.

And still he followed her.

Small animals skittered past him in the darkness… he did not stop to consider what they were or might have been. All of his senses were focused on her… the shadow in the shadows… an immortal.

He took the time to loosen his _katana_ from his coat, but did not immediately draw it forth. He didn't want to scare her off or frighten any passers-by.

On and on she led him… further and further from the light… until they emerged in one of those old squares so common to the oldest cities of Europe. He could hear water flowing in the fountain… one that peasants had used for their needs in centuries past. Beneath his feet, the pavement had given way to cobbled stones. No light shown through the windows… even through the cracks in the wooden shutters that surely existed there. Above… even the thin crescent of the moon and the panoply of stars were covered by clouds.

For a moment he stood near the fountain and breathed the night air… sensing her lightly near him… waiting for him. Finally Duncan turned to see her barely a shape within shadows. He stepped closer.

"Come to me," she said. "Love me."

He faltered. This was no dream or nightmare… this was real and if he were not careful… he'd die. "I'm Duncan MacLeod," he replied.

Her dark cloak began falling away and he saw white skin seeming to gleam and beckon him closer. She reached out to him. "Come! Take me! Love me!" her voice pleaded.

Duncan swallowed and stepped forward, carefully holding on to his sword hilt beneath his coat. The closer he came… the more aroused he became… as if he no longer had a choice. He took a deep breath of her scent… musk and cinnamon… a myriad of spices and… something else beneath the pleasant smell that made him want her despite the danger. He licked his lips. "Who are you?"

"I am yours," she whispered. He was close enough now to see the dark area between her legs, the small patches of shadow on her breasts, the exaggerated features of her face… as though hidden behind too much make-up… too heavily applied. And still he stepped closer.

His heart was pounding in his chest. His breath came in small gasps.

She backed against a wall and lolled her head. One hand reached for him… one fondled a breast and lifted it as if to offer it him. Duncan stretched out his hand… his fingers laced with hers. She pulled him closer and lay his hand on her breast. It was soft as satin and cold in the night air. Again he could smell her and again his defenses against her seemed to crumble.

Closer he stepped and bent his lips to that breast… kissing it lightly. He raised his face to hers… close enough now that he could see her features despite the makeup. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"Does it matter _monsieur_? Love me and you will know."

Duncan felt her fingers pull his belt. He let out a ragged sigh as he let go of his hilt and reached upward for her neck, suddenly turning her in his embrace until she was clasped in his arms… her back to him. He shoved her against the wall and leaned on her.

She let out a strangled cry and struggled against him. He felt about through her garments until he pulled out the small Chinese butterfly sword she had hidden there. Holding it at her neck… he turned her back to face him.

"Who are you?"

"Kill me and learn," she said as she lifted her chin and leaned into the blade. He could see a dark line ooze slowly into existence.

"It doesn't have to be this way!"

He felt her hands tug once more at his belt. Even now… she wanted to complete the act. Even now… he wanted it as well.

He stepped back and turned away… hoping to clear his head. As he did so, he felt his _katana_ slide from its sheath. Looking up… he saw she had it and was raising it for a deadly blow. He leaped further back to avoid the slash.

He pivoted so that he was behind her as she followed through into the move. She turned almost immediately… her short butterfly sword was only good for close fighting. Duncan ducked as she brought his _katana _up and slashed her midsection as he passed. Dancing back out of the way he bobbled on the balls of his feet… ready to move.

She held her hand against her stomach and then up before her eyes to stare at the blood. Then she firmly gripped the _katana_ with both hands, pivoted slightly to slash down on him. He used the butterfly to deflect the blow… which still managed to slice into his arm. He needed the other butterfly for an adequate defense… but he'd only felt the one hidden in her robes.

With a cry… she stepped forward and slashed once more at him. Again he deflected the blow… but this time he managed to turn and kick out at her. His foot connected with her injured mid-section. She was propelled backward against the wall.

He rubbed the cut on his arm, knowing it was healing… but it still hurt. _Pain is transitory! Work through it!_

She snarled as she leapt forward again. This time she used a single-handed blow to his unguarded side. Again he turned and backed away… switching the butterfly back and forth between his hands as he defended against the longer blade.

His booted feet slipped again and again on the cobbles as he backed away, turned, feinted, lunged, and parried the _katana_. He knew his sword, and he knew how to defend against it with a myriad of weapons. He'd planned for just such a moment. All he needed now was an opening… an advantage. He tried to dissect her style with the _katana_… for her an unfamiliar weapon… and too long for her to adequately wield.

Again and again he backed away… seeking that opening. When he saw it… in the awkwardness of her turn and slash… he leaped forward with a spinning move to plunge the butterfly deeply into her chest and hold her tightly. He felt the _katana_ finish its downward slash weakly… and slice into his shoulder. Still he held her in this macabre dance of death.

They both collapsed onto the stones… heaving. This close… he still found he wanted her… Duncan shook his head. "Who are you?" he asked again, holding her chin in his free hand. But her eyes were already glazing over in death… and he feared that he would soon follow.

He pushed the _katana_ from his shoulder and removed it from her hands. The damage would take some time to heal… even if he didn't die from blood-loss. He sat there beside her… holding his shoulder and enduring the pain as he waited. The butterfly sword remained in her chest. He prayed that she'd chosen this spot well… that no one would wander in. He half-crawled, half-dragged her body from the center of the square back to the wall where he let it lie. He leaned against one building and waited… hoping that he would remain awake and aware while he healed. The pain was nearly more than he could bear. At last … he sense that it was healed.

He reached over and pulled the shorter sword from her chest. He would not take her head while she was unconscious. Securing both weapons, he felt for any other that she might have and found a knife. He secured that as well.

Finally she gasped… and he could not help but think that her gasp and movement was like a woman in the throes of passion. For her… death and passion were one.

Awareness was reflected in her eyes as she turned her head and stared at him.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod. Who are you?"

"Portia Berrini."

He lifted her robe to cover her. Again, he could smell a heavy musk and felt lingering desire. He sniffed his fingers where he'd held the robe. It was there.

"Pheromones?" Duncan asked. "Something to give you an edge?"

Portia laughed bitterly. "I needed no edge. Men are such fools. Even the strongest of them becomes putty in my hands. Even you… Duncan MacLeod." She rolled toward him… the robe fell open again and one of her hands touched his… guided it between her legs. She whispered in his ear. "Love me now. Kill me when the moment comes. There is nothing like it."

Her skin felt cold beneath his touch… and it was that which helped him to focus and withdraw his hand. "I don't think so. You won't stop… will you?"

"Should I? It's what we are. It's what we do."

"No," Duncan said sadly. "It's what we've become… if we let it." He could rise and walk away. He knew that now. But she'd just continue. He couldn't allow it. The Watchers and his clan… the immortals… had to be protected… even if it meant killing her.

He rose to his feet and pulled the _katana_ out once more. "It doesn't have to be this way," he repeated.

She rose to her knees and bent forward. "But it does."

He raised the blade and paused. But he could see no other way. Perhaps Darius could have seen one… perhaps he had and perhaps that was why Duncan could still not find the answers that he sought. He struck and watched her head roll across the courtyard. Then the quickening hit him.

_I am Portia… found in a ditch… mistreated and used by men again and again. Killed when I did not please. Know that I would have my revenge._

The first of the quickening licked into him like hot tongues of fire. Duncan screamed and thrust one hand above his head. The lightning lanced into his fingers and straight through him to the ground. Behind him the old pipes of the fountain burst and the water was forced upward in a great geyser that rained about him in the night.

_Men shall suffer an eternity of death! Feel their passion as they died!_

The excess flashed above him as if fireworks were going off. He could see and feel them all… mortal and immortal… killed in the moment for two hundred years. She'd only recently begun taking immortals when she'd realized by chance that a quickening combined with the moment of greatest passion was unusually strong.

Again and again he screamed and moved as though he too were with her. Her quickening arced into him as if it were raping him over and over. Deadly and demanding was the aura of Portia Berrini. Dark were her thoughts and sad her life.

But Duncan had been down this road before. He dug within himself for the only thing that could save him. He raised the _katana_ overhead as if it could shield him.

_I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod!_


	9. Dawn

**Dawn:**

The Watcher retrieval and clean-up crew arrived shortly after he put in a call to Joe. He was gone by then. There was no need to remain. They'd take care of everything. He gave Joe her name and what he'd gleaned from her quickening.

"She was smart Joe… very smart. But her early life had twisted her thinking. When she happened to kill an immortal lover while making love to him… she felt more alive and in control than she'd ever felt. She studied and learned how to pull us in… make us want her."

"Damn… Portia Berrini. We had her down as missing… likely dead for the past eighty years," Joe had replied. Duncan could imagine his friend shaking his head and rubbing one hand over his hear and beard in exasperation.

"Well she's dead now," Duncan replied.

"Yeah. You okay Mac?"

"Fine, Joe." But he wasn't… not really. Something of her still lingered about him… some ghostly vestige that needed and wanted. He still had a stop to make before leaving… before going home to Florence… and to Amanda. He still had unfinished business in Paris.

* * *

Although it was still early, Cassandra let him in to Alisaunne's apartment. It was evident that the psychic was sleeping on the couch for now.

"I need to see her."

"She's sleeping," Cassandra said simply as if that would deter him. Any other time, it might have… but not today. He pushed past her and opened the door to Alisaunne's bedroom.

Alisaunne was curled atop the bedcovers… one hand outstretched. Duncan pulled up a chair and sat quietly… finally he reached out to slowly and softly clasp her hand.

"I'm awake," she laughed. He smiled at the sound of her laughter.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Her eyes opened… hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle with amusement. "For helping me?"

"For thinking you were the monster I sought. That it was you preying on immortals in the darkness and shadows."

She clasped his fingers with a squeeze. "Oh… I hunt sometimes. I told you that, but not lately… only when _his_ whispers fill me utterly so that it is the only way to shut him up."

Duncan chuckled. "And for a while another voice supplants Nestor in your mind."

Alisaunne nodded sadly. "And even then… an older one within me observes and weeps. Perhaps that is why I can make no sense of his writings. I'm not ready."

Duncan nodded in agreement. "Nor am I." He rose from the chair and settled on the bed next to her… sitting against the headboard while she curled against him like a child.

"I miss him."

"Ian?"

She nodded. "But Darius, too. I have no part of him it seems."

"Nor do I."

Only my memories and the things he left behind."

"Did I ever tell you about the first time he tasted chocolate?"

Alisaunne shook her head.

"It involved your mother." He relaxed against the headboard and began to tell her his story. Later, she told him one of hers and so on through the morning and into the afternoon while they rebuilt their damaged friendship by sharing their memories of the one person that they each had held dear in a past life.

From the outer room, Cassandra looked in approvingly on occasion. While healing had to come from within… one did not have to do it alone. It had taken her three thousand years to learn that. Hopefully these two would learn it sooner. And if they could… perhaps others could as well… and the game could end with a positive outcome.

#30#

_**Shadow of Doubt**_

_Just another homesick child  
__Tired of running wild  
__Ready to stand trial and move on  
__Though I'm guilty in your sight  
__Have some mercy tonight  
__I can't make it through the fight alone._

_Chorus: _

_Oh but Lord, no don't make it easy  
__Keep me workin' till I work it on out  
__Just please won't you shine  
__enough light on me  
__Til I'm free from this shadow of doubt_

_As I try to make some sense  
__of this world I'm up against  
__Well I know my best defense is your love  
__When the struggle gets insane and the lesson's full of pain  
__keep me calling out your name with love._

_Chorus:_

_Oh but Lord, no don't make it easy  
__Keep me workin' till I work it on out  
__Just please won't you shine  
__enough light on me  
__Til I'm free from this shadow of doubt_

_Well I whisper in the dark  
__From the bottom of my heart  
__And I'm searching for one star to shine  
__I will shout from mountain high  
__And I'll reach into the sky  
__'Til you open up my eyes so blind._

_Chorus:_

_Oh but Lord no, don't make it easy  
__Keep me workin' til I work it on out  
__Just please, please shine enough light on me  
__'Til I'm free from this shadow of doubt  
__keep me out of the Shadow..._

lyrics by Gary Nicholson, sung by Bonnie Raitt

* * *

**Author's Afterword: **The chapter titles were suggested by the dictionary definitions of the word shadow. A reader on another board gave this genre of story the title... _**elle noir**_... for which I am thankful. I rather like the designation.

I realize that by listing this story as "M" it does not appear on the "Just In" lists... but the subject matter was such that I feared to list it as anything less than "M".

While this is not the next long story, some of the events of this story are referred to in the next one, and I felt that they had to be explored on their own, rather than relegated to flashbacks.

I look forward to comments and criticisms.

As always,

ellenora


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